


Hello, Sweetie

by bigblueboxat221b



Series: Speaking in Tongues [13]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Affection, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Nicknames, Past Domestic Violence, Sherlock's Past
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-28
Updated: 2017-01-28
Packaged: 2018-09-20 09:17:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9484622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bigblueboxat221b/pseuds/bigblueboxat221b
Summary: John wonders what nicknames might come of 'Sherlock'. Sherlock wonders right back at him, and more little details are revealed about each of them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Passing mention of John's father's physical abuse of John.

“Have you ever had a nickname?” John asked one lazy morning. They were lying tangled on the sofa together, alternately snogging, talking drowsily and making tea (the last being John’s least favourite because it meant he had to get up).

Sherlock snorted derisively. “No,” he answered.

John was quiet for a few moments, his fingers lazily running through Sherlock’s curls.

“Sherl,” he said suddenly.

Sherlock didn’t respond.

John spoke again. “Lock. Locky, Sherly-”

“None of those is even a name!” Sherlock pointed out, interrupting John as he ran out of ideas anyway.

John grinned and kissed Sherlock’s knuckles. “Isn’t that the point of a nickname?” he said. “Something that’s not really your name, but people you like call you that.” He felt Sherlock shrug under him. “You’ve really never had a nickname? What did your parents call you?”

“Sherlock, obviously.”

“You know what I mean.”

Sherlock sighed dramatically. “Fine. As a boy I was known as William. My-”

“William? Where did that come from?”

“It’s my name, John. William Sherlock Scott Holmes.”

John turned him around to look at his face, speechless. “I never knew that!”

“Now you do.” Sherlock replied simply. He didn’t seem to think it a big deal.

John was still a little miffed; it seemed important somehow that he knew that Sherlock was not actually his given name. He picked up the thread of their conversation.

“But nobody called you anything except William.”

Sherlock shook his head, no.

“Not even any of those nannies of yours?”

Sherlock smiled a sad little smile, John could see from his position slightly above and behind Sherlock. “Not more than once. We were introduced as Mr. Mycroft and Mr. William, and were to be addressed as such. Some of them used pet names from their native languages, but never a contraction of our given names.”

Again, John sat and considered this new information.

“William.” He started, then continued quickly, “Will, Willy, Bill, Billy, Liam, Wills, Wilbur-”

“NO!” Sherlock almost shouted. John blinked, shocked at the force with which he spoke.

“No more, John. I chose to be known by the name Sherlock, and I would appreciate if you would use it.” He sank down again, still for a moment until one hand snaked out and took John’s, unceremoniously dropping it back on his head in a blatant request for more scalp rubbing.

John chuckled and complied, though he was puzzled. Silence reigned again, as John wondered why Sherlock was so determined to be known as Sherlock and not William or any contraction thereof. He felt Sherlock inhale, then heard, “John.” A pause, then, “Johnny Bo-”

“NO!” John’s voice was sharp, and the tension flooded his body immediately.

Sherlock shot up right away, turning to look in alarm at John. “Are you okay?” Sherlock asked, voice full of concern.

John nodded, his hands shaking, breathing harsh. He bowed his head for a few moments, eyes closed, before opening them and looking at Sherlock evenly. “Don’t ever call me that, even as a joke, okay, Sherlock?”

Sherlock nodded, hard and immediately.

John could see his curiosity, but also trepidation. He sighed. “That’s what my father would call me when he was drunk. When he would, would…” John couldn’t finish the sentence, but Sherlock understood. ‘When he would get drunk and beat the living hell out of me’ was what John couldn’t say.

Sherlock embraced him, wrapping long limbs around and holding him close. He whispered sweet nothings in John’s ear as John calmed down, his limbs relaxing with the support of Sherlock’s arms.

After a little while, when John’s body had softened and relaxed into Sherlock, and they had made themselves comfortable once more, Sherlock asked tentatively, “So what nicknames have you been called? John doesn’t seem to lend itself to contractions.”

John thought. “Doc, in the Army, and with some of my high school friends. Three Continents Watson, also Army.” Sherlock raised one eyebrow in a silent request for more information. John blushed a little but admitted, “That was from one night on leave, I got phone numbers for three different women, all from different continents.” Sherlock looked shocked, then the look softened into something John couldn’t identify – pride, perhaps? He continued, “Um, I was Mr Nice for a while at school, and Lefty when John Wilson started in my class and it was all a bit confusing. Watson in the Army, of course, too. I think that’s about it, really.”

Sherlock nodded, filing the new information away carefully. He was meticulous about John’s wing in his mind palace, more so now that John had all but forbidden his keeping notes. Despite his assertion, Sherlock still harboured a deep fear of John leaving, and perfect recall of facts-associated-with-John was surely a way to prevent that.

“Should I have a nickname for you now?” Sherlock asked.

“Why?” John replied. His confusion cleared, and he said, “Oh, you mean now we’re together.” His heart gave a little leap as he said that, as he was able to say that.

Sherlock nodded. “Isn’t it what people do? Have affectionate names for their partner.”

John considered this. “Some people do, I guess. I’ve never really thought about it. I suppose it’s one of those things that just kind of happens, you know?”

“No.” Sherlock’s response was immediate and innocent, a reminder to John that he did not know, that he was genuinely unaware of how these things worked.

“Okay, well is there something in particular you’d prefer I called you? Instead of your name, I mean?” John asked, accepting that they would be having this conversation right now.

“No, I chose my name for a reason, John. I just wondered if you would prefer me to use such an affectionate term when speaking to you.”

John chuckled. “Not really, Sherlock. How about we go through a few and see if any take you fancy?” John started racking his brain for generic terms of endearment.

“Dear.”

“That’s what Mummy calls Father. No.”

“Honey.”

“I am partial to bees, however I am not actually a bee. No.”

“Babe.”

“No.”

“Darling.”

“No.”

“Sweetie.”

“You only like that because of River and the Doctor. No.”

John threw up his hands. “Well, that’s all I’ve got. Unless you come up with something, or something just occurs to me, it’s John and Sherlock, if that’s okay with you.” Sherlock nodded, apparently satisfied.

“Tea?” John offered, and Sherlock nodded, lifting his legs so John could get up. He filled the kettle and readied the mugs, calling back as he waited, “So, why did you chose Sherlock instead of William, then?” There was no response, and John shrugged it off. Sherlock often ignored him if he didn’t want to answer a question. It would keep for another time, John thought as he poured hot water. His mind was still mulling over endearments, though he no longer searched actively for one. John finished their tea automatically now, carrying it in to Sherlock and placing it on the floor next to the sofa.

“There you go, love,” he said, leaning over to drop a kiss on Sherlock’s head as he did so.

Sherlock turned his face up and smiled at John as though waiting for something.

John looked at him, then the penny dropped. He looked at the smile on Sherlock’s face, understanding that they’d found another piece of their language.

“Love,” John murmured again, against Sherlock’s hair. He smiled to himself. Love.


End file.
